Sleep Tight
by darthsydious
Summary: Sherlock babysits baby Matilda. What's his formula for getting a fussy baby to sleep? Obviously nothing less than brilliant. Established John/Molly.


"I'm on the night shift tonight, is there any chance you could take Matilda?" Molly asked. Sherlock stood in the kitchen, rubber gloves, blow-torch and goggles in hand.

"I…suppose…" he said slowly.

"It would be good for you," John said, shrugging into his jacket. He kissed Molly goodbye. "I've gotta be at the hospital by six, ta Sherlock."

Molly's shift didn't begin until seven, so Sherlock started up the stairs with enough time for her to worry that he wasn't coming. He found her in the kitchen, taking down a plate for him, Matilda in her high-chair.

"She's had her dinner, and her bath, and she's got a fresh diaper on now," she said. "Be sure she's in bed no later than seven-thirty, we've gotten her to where she can sleep for at least a few hours before she wakes up. You know what to do, when she wakes up," Molly said, finishing braiding her hair. Sherlock looked confused. "Just leave her there, she stops crying after a while." Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "It's training them to sleep through the night," Molly said. "There's chicken and rice keeping warm in the oven for you, and there's a hand I brought home last night in the freezer," he perked up at that, heading to the fridge to inspect. Pulling on her coat, she grabbed her purse and keys. "Be good for Sherlock," she kissed Matilda's head.

"We'll be fine," Sherlock said. "Honestly. It's _one_ night."

"A lot can happen in one night."

"Humph."

The evening was quietly spent. Dinner was eaten in the living room in front of the television, Matilda on his knee, her fingers grasping pieces of chicken and rice, stuffing it in her mouth.

"You already ate," he said to her, annoyed. She babbled to him, taking another handful. He set her on the floor with Gladstone. She crawled over to the bulldog, leaning against him with a sigh. His dinner finished, he picked Matilda up, washed her face, brushed her teeth (all two of them) and changed her into her pyjamas. He sat in the rocker near the crib, blanket wrapped around her just as Molly usually did. Cozy in his arms, she snuggled against his chest, quietly babbling nonsense. After about thirty minutes, she was heavy in his arms, so he got up, gently placing her in the crib.

Peace and quiet! Sherlock smiled to himself; Molly was making a fuss out of nothing!

A few hours later, he was deep in his mind-palace when Matilda began to fuss in her crib. Her piercing shriek was what startled him. Babies must only scream like that when they are in mortal danger, of course, so he bolted up, clearing the coffee table, thumping down the hall to the nursery. Rather than some jack-booted thug wielding a knife, Sherlock found Matilda all by herself, sobbing. She was standing up in the crib, quite unhappy to be there. He checked the window, the closet and even under the crib. Finding nothing, he faced her, hands on his hips.

"What?" he asked. Her only response was to cry harder, reaching for him. He pulled her hands from the bars, trying to lay her back down on her belly, but she would have none of it. Every time he'd try to lay her down, she'd sit up, reaching through the bars to hug his leg, sobbing piteously.

After twenty minutes, Sherlock was at his wits end. She did not want to sleep, so he picked her up, soothing her. She cuddled against him, and in fifteen minutes, she was quiet again. So gently, gently, he bent and laid her down. That's what Molly and John did, and eventually she'd fall back asleep. Okay then. But as soon as she felt Sherlock's arms leave her, Matilda stirred, picking up her head and bawling. So he picked Matilda up again, rocked her to sleep, and then tried to lay her down again. He did this thrice, and each time, she woke up. An idea suddenly came to him. Shushing Matilda, he carefully climbed into the crib, minding the baby. On his side, he pulled her close. Matilda immediately settled against him, still forcing out half-sobs. In a few moments though, curled against his chest, she was quiet. Ten minutes later, she was asleep. Sherlock smiled at his cleverness. What do you know? It worked! Wouldn't Molly and John be surprised? Wouldn't they feel foolish, not having thought of such an easy solution? Leave it to the one who did not have children to think of the easiest answer. Carefully, carefully, he began to sit up. As he did so, Matilda stirred. She clambered up onto his middle, preventing him from moving, and settled right back asleep. Sherlock frowned. He lay very still, and the little girl did too, her eyes shut, tiny red mouth hung open and she breathed evenly.

Asleep again.

So he shifted carefully, trying to get out from under her, and again, she began to cry, fingers grasping his shirt.

"Oh…bollocks," he muttered. Maybe if he just eased her onto the mattress- but no. That small movement still alerted her that he was trying to get up. He was beginning to get uncomfortable, knees up against the bars of the crib. For almost an hour, he'd wait until Matilda fell asleep, then try and ease his way out of the crib, each time unsuccessful. It was almost two in the morning when he finally gave up. He shifted, making himself comfortable. In a while, the only noise heard in 221a was the gentle snoring of the smallest Watson and that of the Consulting Detective.

**Five AM**

John and Molly clocked out around the same time.

"Share a cab?" he asked with a wink and a smile and she laughed.

"What would my husband say?"  
"He wouldn't mind," John slipped his arm around her waist, kissing her. "Come on; let's go see who broke what."

"My bet's on our girl."

John unlocked the door, heaving a tired sigh. Now he remembered why he rarely took night shifts. But the extra money would be a nice chunk towards their rainy day jar. Maybe they could take a holiday that summer. Setting the keys in the bowl, he left his coat on the table, shuffling through the flat, shutting lights off as he went. Trust Sherlock to forget half the lights and the telly on! Molly was already in the nursery, she tip-toed back out, motioning him to come quickly. He fought back a laugh at the sight that greeted them. Within the crib lay the World's Only Consulting Detective, his arm draped over the bundle that was curled up against him, fast asleep. Or at least Sherlock was. Matilda was sitting quietly in his arms, petting his head. Molly fished through her pockets for her phone, taking a quick picture before she went over the crib, kissing Matilda

"Good morning Tilly," she cooed and reached into the crib, lifting her out with a grunt. "Getting heavy, baby-girl," Sherlock stirred, blinking slowly.

"Your child is a screecher," he sat up with a grunt and a stretch.

"What are you doing in there?" John asked, trying not to laugh.

"Sleeping," Sherlock replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, a grown man sleeping in a crib.

"She started crying didn't she?" Molly asked

"Like a banshee." He climbed out, grumbling as his knees cracked, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders.

"Why'd you get in there with her?" she asked, trying not to laugh.

"She wouldn't stop fussing," Sherlock answered. "_Obviously_, and before you laugh, my methods were not ineffectual. She did sleep through the night."

"Mmhm." John and Molly exchanged grins. Sherlock would never admit it, but they knew he hadn't minded cuddling with Matilda, even if it meant sleeping with his knees pressed against the crib.


End file.
